


reel against your body’s borders

by babzilla



Series: lupi ante portus [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Creature from the Black Lagoon basically, Explicit Sexual Content, Ipupiara, I’m not sorry, Kit Fisto’s Puzzle Box Genitalia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Werewolves, monster fucking, no beta we die like men, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babzilla/pseuds/babzilla
Summary: A wolf runs under the full moon, the light on his tawny fur turning him into a golden streak, flashing between the trees. He’s spent the night revelling with the Pack.But it’s the lake, now, that calls to him.—“Don’t tease, my love,” he groans, trying to arch his hips up despite Rex’s hold on him. It’s a fruitless exercise, he should already know— out of the water, Rex is the stronger one between them and won’t be moved by any force.Begging, though. Begging usually worked.
Relationships: Kit Fisto/CT-7567 | Rex
Series: lupi ante portus [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953808
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	reel against your body’s borders

**Author's Note:**

> You don’t need to have read the rest of the series to read this, but chronologically, this takes place the day after _like thunder under earth_. (Even though that one’s not complete yet.)
> 
> Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content. Weird anatomy. Extremely consensual.

Underneath the bright Hunter’s Moon, the woods are silent and peaceful. The only sound disturbing the silence is the whistling of the wind high in the branches of the evergreen pines, and the soft padding of wolves’ feet on the forest floor.

They chase no prey, only running toward the pull of the full moon hanging overhead. They’ve been in the woods for hours, and their howling is over. Now they run, trying to find home.

One has broken apart from his brothers, turning deeper into the forest. The rest don’t follow.

The moonlight over the wolf’s tawny fur turns him into a golden streak of light, flashing between the trees. His brothers can find him easily enough, should they wish.

But the night is almost over, the sun stretching its first pale fingers across the horizon, and he can stray from the Pack now— their moonlit ritual complete.

It’s the lake, now, that calls to him.

And he goes.

It’s a singular focus that takes him to the water’s edge, settling with his nose to the sky as he scents the air. 

The lake is still, and cold, and smells only of the shed leaves on the mixed mud and stone of its shore. The little scents of small animals are only slight distractions on the wind— they’re not what he’s searching for.

Ducking his head low, he stares out into the lake, and is quickly rewarded.

There— across the water, disturbing the mirror-like surface, are two dark eyes that reflect the light so brightly that they might have been the moon in miniature. The wolf raises his head, watches, waits.

A blink, and they’re gone, the water barely rippling in their absence.

He turns and runs— leaping through the underbrush, dodging between trees, bounding over glittering pale rock formations at the water’s edge. He listens to the gentle whistling of the wind over the lake, the heavy sigh of the forest, they’re all more real to him than the sound of his own panting breaths.

There is something in the dark—a bright, salty tang in the air, like green things growing in water—and it runs after him like a man.

He’s faster on land, but he can see now, almost within reach, the boat that’s been taken to the centre of the lake. It floats, silent and solitary under the moonlight.

The lantern’s on.

The wolf dives.

The water is icy, but he runs hot.

He’s not the best swimmer with his four paws in a full animal-shift, but he’s getting faster.

He’ll make it this time.

Cutting through the water behind him is another predator. This one is swift and sleek in the current of the lake, not encumbered by his own pelt. Ipupiara are born swimming in rivers, it’s little contest to catch up to a wolf.

Still, he doesn’t let that deter him, paddling faster as he draws closer to the boat.

He almost makes it, claws scrabbling ungracefully against the wet boards of the ladder dipping down into the lake, before a warm hand wraps around his ankle.

He yelps, undignified, and shakes his leg, letting the transformation back into a man take over him, senses dulling slightly to the laughter bubbling up from beneath the water’s surface.

“You’re a menace,” he growls quietly, the words sounding sluggish in his half-animal throat.

The hand around his ankle slowly loosens and he heaves himself onto the deck, rolling onto his back.

“I win again,” comes the warbling, waterlogged voice from below, a moment before the Ipupiara leaps from the lake in one neat motion, nothing at all like Rex ungainly struggling to climb the ladder.

“Unfair advantage,” he says back shortly, idly scratching at the whorls in the wood of the deck beneath him with his still sharpened claws as he watches Kit step lightly towards him.

The river nymph’s softly scaled skin shimmers emerald in the gloaming of early dawn, unconcerned by the chill in the air and the water dripping down his skin. His harder, armoured scales lay flat across the curve of his shoulders, the multi-tendrilled tresses growing from his head loose and relaxed. He blinks his large, depthless eyes down at Rex, making a great play at being shocked, but doesn’t make any effort to hide his fanged smile.

“So cruel, my love, do you think a werewolf is so little challenge?”

Rex doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he beckons the creature before him, remaining splayed in a near beast-shift to keep his eyes golden and sharp, ears pointed and alert, his tawny fur reduced to no more than platinum down to keep him warm, though he hardly needs it with his blood running hot from the moon’s call.

“C’mere.”

Still smiling, Kit takes his time sauntering over to Rex, his silhouette a graceful shadow against the moon. Slowly, he comes to a stop between Rex’s legs, kneeling down and leaning forward, his slightly webbed fingers holding onto the Were’s thighs for stability, though he doesn’t need it.

“Happy full moon,” Kit smiles, all teeth.

“A-wooo,” Rex returns dryly, rolling his eyes as his lover dramatically falls into guffaws of laughter, resting his forehead on the werewolf’s bare chest. What little illusion of grace that had remained about him finally banished by the display.

“Why don’t you ever howl for me, my love?” Kit asks, grinning as he tilts his head up, resting his chin over Rex’s heart.

“I howl for you, plenty,” he says, raising a hand and disturbing Kit’s plush tresses one by one, deliberately failing to linger on any one tendril for too long in that way that makes the river nymph twitch.

“No, I would like a wolf howl,” Kit insists, visibly struggling not to shake his head to rearrange his tresses, forcing Rex to start again.

“Could always make you howl instead,” he says, predictably sending Kit into another fit of laughter.

“Oh, that was awful— ah!” Kit complains, falling back as Rex uses his distraction to surge forward, tackling him to the deck so that the Ipupiara is the one squirming beneath the weight of his hands.

“Hmph, good thing there is only one full moon a month— it makes you rude!” Kit groans, trying to wriggle out of Rex’s hold and lean up for a kiss at the same time.

The werewolf growls, tightening his grip on Kit’s thighs, his arms, unbothered by the slippery, softly scaled skin, but he does oblige his lover with a kiss. It’s an old game now, with none of their old fumbling, but the sensation of his halfway shift into his true Were nature against the Ipupiara’s undisguised form never fails to thrill his instincts, always so close to the surface on these nights. Caught between wanting to fight and wanting to rut, full moons on the lake have been a welcome change in his life since he and Kit had decided to try and tie their lives together.

Grappling and wrestling on the deck, they roll around for a moment, both trying to get the other under them. They’re both soaked from swimming in the lake, and their missteps and badly-aimed groping is as much of a game as anything else.

But finally, Rex manages to get the upper hand: one of Kit’s thighs trapped between his legs as he leaned with his full weight on the river nymph’s shoulders.

Kit does not concede graciously, as always full of mirth and wriggling for all he was worth; dragging the pads of his scaled fingers across Rex’s sensitive sides, ruffling the short, downy fur that lingered from the half-shift.

And always laughing— sometimes, Kit doesn’t know how to do anything but tease. Rex snarls and dives down at the continuing laughter, drags his teeth across Kit’s throat. It draws a sharp gasp out of his lover and he rumbles deep in his chest, finally satisfied to have wiped the smirk off of Kit’s face.

With a grip that’s not quite bruising, he adjusts his hold on the Ipupiara, grabbing onto his hips and laying sharp, almost biting kisses across his skin as he works his way down his long, swimmer’s torso. Kit’s hands follow him all the way down, smoothing over his shoulders and sliding down his arms in an attempt to catch his hands and move them to where he wants them. 

At the sharp dip of his pelvis, Rex takes a moment to linger, one hand loosening from its hold to stroke down Kit’s thigh as he occupies himself with dragging his teeth over the sharp jut of bone. He can hear Kit’s short, panting breaths above him, a hand settling over the crown of Rex’s head, fingers twitching as he alternately tries to pull at the close-cropped hair and push his head further down.

“Don’t tease, my love,” he groans, trying to arch his hips up despite Rex’s hold on him. It’s a fruitless exercise, he should already know— out of the water, Rex is the stronger one between them and won’t be moved by any force.

Begging, though. Begging usually worked.

So Rex makes no indication that he had heard the Ipupiara’s words, working his way down the slope of Kit’s thigh, kissing closer and closer to the juncture of his thighs but never quite where Kit so badly wants.

True to form, Kit spends several stubborn minutes trying to squirm against Rex’s hold, perhaps hoping that he might accidentally redirect the werewolf’s mouth with his constant movement, but he’s unsuccessful— as usual.

“Please?” He tries, accent rolling with his usual, teasing lilt.

Rex only hums, working his way back up, away from the growing heat and slick gathering at Kit’s groin.

“Ah—! No, I’m sorry—” he gasps against the sensation of Rex kissing his way up his chest. “Please, Rex.”

Smirking, the Were only shakes his head, maneuvering himself so that only his thigh presses up at the apex of Kit’s thighs.

“Amazing how you never learn,” he growls softly, looking down at Kit’s desperate face, expression shattered by the warring agony of pleasure and deep frustration. 

“Please, Rex,” he repeats, blinking his dark eyes and looking far too innocent while reflecting the moon up at him.

Rex just tilts his head, raising a disbelieving brow, because he can drag this out for as long as he can keep a hold of Kit, and his lover knows it.

“ _Please_ ,” Kit begs in earnest, trying to chase any friction he can against Rex’s thigh. 

“Well, since you asked so _nicely_ ,” Rex snorts disingenuously as he puts his mouth back to work, wasting no time as he sweeps his tongue over the curves and lines of Kit’s dorsal fins, held flush to his skin. 

Kit’s only response is a wordless groan, hands slapping down against the deck as he pants, his chest rising and falling deeply as he actively tries to regulate his oxygen intake while he’s in the process of losing his mind ever-so-slightly to lust.

Rex isn’t so cruel that he laughs at Kit’s predicament, but the Ipupiara has teased him past all sense of intelligent thought enough times that he has very little sympathy as he finally lets go of Kit’s thigh to tease at the slit concealing his most sensitive anatomy.

Curling his knuckles to cover his still-sharp claws, Rex runs the back of his fingers up the slit at the juncture of Kit’s thighs, dipping slightly into the slick pouch that houses what he laughingly refers to as Kit’s puzzle box genitalia. As his knuckles part the slit little by little, he can smell the musky salt scent of the thin liquid that keeps Kit’s inner pouch slick.

Extending his fingers, careful of his claws, he can feel the curve of Kit’s cock against his knuckles, still tucked protectively inside. Spreading his fingers a little, he dips his head down and licks a long stripe up the slightly parted slit, delving deeper to stroke at the tip of the river nymph’s cock and eliciting a sharp yelp from his lover. He keeps at it for a minute, teasing the slit open wider until he can withdraw his fingers entirely to bury his face in the slick heat as Kit calls out into the open air in time with each swipe of his tongue.

“Please, Rex, are you going to make me beg all night?” Kit pleads haltingly, tugging at his shoulders and trying to pull him up with uncoordinated, nerveless fingers.

“I might,” Rex replies petulantly, tongue darting out to swipe at his top lip as he looks up to meet Kit’s eyes over the still glistening planes of his torso, running light fingers down either side of the gently parted slit at his lover’s groin.

Kit can only answer with a broken whimper, muscles jumping underneath Rex’s hands. They stare at each other for a few long moments as the Were idly strokes his free hand down the inside of the river nymph’s thighs, flesh tensing and relaxing as Kit chases more contact between them.

Rex does laugh this time, having been put in this position many times by his lover and always enjoying the turnaround. But he’d only be punishing himself by delaying any more, his own cock having long grown hard— since Kit had first come up onto the boat.

Laying one last kiss against Kit’s slick opening, he pushes up onto his hands and knees, crawling up the river nymph’s body and trusting that he’ll stay put now that he’s so close to getting what he wants. Not disappointing him, Kit only reaches with one hand for his face, pulling him down for an open-mouthed kiss and expertly dodging sharp teeth to taste himself on Rex’s lips. His other hand reaches down unerringly to grip at Rex’s straining cock, palming the length of it as he spreads his legs and guides the hot tip to his opening.

Rex lets him tease himself while they kiss, jerking his hips back every time Kit tries to raise up and take more of him in. He nips at the Ipupiara’s lips, leaving a trail of kisses up to the roots of his tresses, breathing shallowly on the sensitive organs, and then lipping down the length of a primary tendril until he can suck the tip into his mouth.

Kit jerks in his arms, sharp claws scratching at the Were’s scalp, breaking the kiss as he tilts his head in a sympathetic reaction, mouth hanging open in silent pleasure.

Leaving the river nymph momentarily shocked by the sensation, Rex lets the tendril fall gently from his mouth as he tugs at Kit’s hip, turning him over onto his front and arranging him comfortably while Kit comes back to himself. Bowing over his back, Rex kisses his way up Kit’s spine, cock gently nudging at his slit again as he positions himself.

Slowly, with the smallest thrusts, he works himself inside the wet heat of his lover’s slit, burying his groans in the back of Kit’s neck and nosing his way around the thick tendrils at the base of his skull.

It’s a tight fit, no matter how convenient it is that his lover is stunningly self-lubricating, how slick, no matter how much Rex teases him before plunging inside. The Ipupiara’s anatomy isn’t quite intended for this use, regardless of how maddeningly good it feels for both of them. So Rex keeps his thrusts short and shallow, or long and slow, mindful not to injure the sensitive inner flesh as he wraps his arms around his lover, holding him in place so he doesn’t squirm his way into any position that would cause him pain. 

The sliding friction of their bodies builds heat quickly, impossibly hot in the chill October air as they move together; the salty-sweet scent of the slick from Kit’s body sitting heavily on Rex’s tongue as he pants against his lover’s back.

It takes too long and is over far too quickly for both their tastes, but even now he can feel Kit’s body protest, his cock bumping up against Rex’s as his pleasure builds, wanting release. Sliding a hand over Kit’s shoulder, he finds his chin and tilts his head toward him for a kiss, tongues chasing each other for a taste.

Working himself up toward the end, he grinds his hips in short circles at every thrust, and his chest rumbles at the delicious, smooth glide of their cocks sliding against each other inside Kit’s body. 

“Harder,” Kit gasps, pushing back into each thrust, his face a picture of agonised pleasure.

Unable to help himself, Rex drags his teeth against Kit’s neck again as he growls, lengthening his strokes and pressing in deeper and deeper until Kit is crying out beneath him. His breath stutters in his chest after another minute, balls contracting as he trips over his orgasm, spilling inside his lover.

Kit yelps in startled pleasure at the heat pouring into him, a hand scrabbling at the deck as he reaches down to where their bodies meet— the flat of his hand pressing against where they are joined as his body reacts sympathetically, sending him headlong into orgasm with Rex.

The Were groans, the sound lingering in his throat and his hips jerking erratically as Kit’s slick, spasming passage clenched tightly around both their cocks. Reaching down, he covers Kit’s hand with his own, threading their fingers together and pressing down harder, his own breath hitching in time with Kit’s as their seed mixes together and spills from the tight slit, covering their thighs.

It feels like it goes on forever, the two of them feeding into the other’s pleasure until they’re laying bonelessly on the deck, their bodies still joined and covered in sweat and slick and come. Humming, entire body gone soft and pliant from orgasm, Kit traces his fingers around his own slit, around the outline of Rex’s thick cock in his tight opening.

“My turn?” Kit asks, smiling against his cheek as he looks over his shoulder, the first rays of true daylight peeking over the horizon.

Rex’s arms are still wrapped tightly around Kit’s waist, hips still working in small erratic thrusts, the heat from their bodies rising like white steam in the morning light. 

But the moon is still full behind them, no matter that it’s no longer visible, and Rex can still feel its cold light in his heart. And smirking as he tucks his face into the back of Kit’s neck, he nods.

It’ll be awhile before his blood comes down and he’s fit for human company. Until then, he can continue to enjoy his boyfriend’s undivided attention, alone on the lake.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> Ipupiara/river nymph: the myth of the Ipupiara is the vague origin of movie creatures such as the Gill-man from Creature from the Black Lagoon and the Amphibian Man from The Shape of Water. It’s a Brazilian myth from the Amazon River— an aggressive merman that kills fishermen. I’ve sort of combined it with the myth of the Iara, also from the same region, which are closer to traditional mermaids or nymphs from Greek mythology.
> 
> Werewolves: because I have to complicate things— animal-shift = full wolf, beast-shift = movie werewolf, you know what I mean. So a half-shift is a partial sort of transformation used here for smut purposes. You can picture it however you like, depending on how much of a furry you are :) You’re welcome.
> 
> ((Also I know there can be multiple full moons in a month, let me liiiiive))
> 
> —
> 
> PRETEND I POSTED CHAPTER TWO OF LIKE THUNDER UNDER EARTH BEFORE THIS.
> 
> If you see any errors, let me know 😩


End file.
